I have this recurring fantasy.Ok, fantasy is not the right word. It’s not kinky. Don’t get excited. Or get excited, do what you gotta do. But more like a daydream? Daydream. Where all of the guys I have had some sort of relation(ship) with are in one room on a stage that resembles the set of The Dating Game. They are all sitting on cheap plastic stools (I did not spring for leather couches, I guess?) wondering what they are all doing here. They get to talking and realize their shared connection: ME! How long would this take? Hours? Days? Would I ever come up in conversation? This is no longer a talk show, it is more like a horrible Twilight Zone episode. Like that one where everyone is inexplicably stuck in a white room with high walls and can’t get out. I haven’t really figured out the details. My daydreams are not big on exposition.Does this make me self-absorbed? Probably. Has everyone thought about this scenario at least once? I’m willing to bet DEFINITELY.I always wonder what they would say about me. Would my high school boyfriend remember our first kiss on Valentine’s Day in Italy? Our last kiss? Would any of them remember arguments and passionate moments? Did I make any lasting impact on them? Do any of them miss me or hate me? Why did all of these relationships end, again?
Someone told me last week that the key to a happy relationship is to date an ugly person. They didn’t elaborate much, but I think what they meant was that physical attraction and passions inevitably fade, but at the end of the day, when all the pretenses drop away, and you are left with all of the ugly, your faded alma mater t-shirt and your mouth full of Crest whitestrips, that they still want to be there. That they stick around, for whatever reason.I’ve never gotten to the point in a relationship where I am comfortable being naked. I don’t just mean physically naked. But naked as in completely myself. Like, ugly me. Bed-head, unflattering-lighting me. I got pretty close in my most recent relationship, but I was always a conscious of that other presence. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it pushes me to be better – to be the best version of me at all times. But is it really better? Aren’t I just as lovable with a a t-shirt and a nose strip of as I am with a push-up bra and a mini skirt? Maybe there is a happy medium I can get to. But in the end, is it my heart and compassion and sense of humor that really matter? I’d like to hope so.That being said, I don’t really agree with my mom. I want to think that I will find someone I am attracted to in every way. Don’t get me wrong; he doesn’t have to be a young Mick Jagger or anything. In fact, I’m not too comfortable dating a guy who is prettier than me. But I want to find someone who makes my heart skip a little when he smiles at me and shiver when he kisses my neck, someone who knows how to cook one great dish, who will drop whatever he’s doing to pick me up when I’m stuck in a rut, who’s witty as hell, with excellent taste in music and movies, an endless passion for adventure, and a huge, huge heart that he isn’t afraid to share with me. And maybe he will come with a receding hairline or be a close-talker, but I will love him for it and he will love my chewing ice addiction and my funny faces, and it won’t matter because he will be kind and want to stay in bed with me for hours on a Saturday morning.But for the record, if you’re reading this, young Mick Jagger – I would never turn you down. Call me.
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BOOTS & BISOUS 